Somewhere in between graduating college in Biology and attempting to have a life. This is my story of my running, working, relationships, school, friends and support. My ups, downs, complete failures, and undenying truths along the way. Oh, did I mention I am recovering from an eating disorder in the midst of it all? Welcome to life in recovery…. it gets a little bumpy.

I think one of the most infuriating things about being a “Millennial” is the fact that the generation before us doesn’t seem to take us seriously.

Hearing comments from the Baby Boomers and Generation X like, “Welcome to Adulthood” “Adulthood isn’t all it has cracked up to be, has it?”, or the ever sarcastic, unwanted invitation of, “Welcome to the real world”. As if our struggles through finals week, in college was all just a bad hallucinogen trip.

We are put into a category of “entitled”, “lazy”, “selfish”, the list goes on and on, and yet, seldom do we fit this tight narrow minded view of ourselves. With these confounded credit cards, and the debt we had dug our way into trying to afford an education.

Not to mention the technology we are so attached to, neglecting the fact that we may, in fact, be checking work email, or comforting a friend whose parents don’t understand their mental illness.

It isn’t that we are failing expectations of past generations, or that we are somehow unsuited to grow into adulthood without past generations’ supervision, it is that we are different.

Our goal is no longer to be married with kids by the time we are 20. It isn’t that we don’t want a good house, car or job, but it has become exponentially more difficult. Healthcare prices, cars, education, housing, everything has increased in price. As Millennials, it is our decision to choose what necessities we actually “need”, and what gets cut off the list. Some continue to live with their parents, some decide to rely on other modes of transportation, we try and stay on our parents’ insurance for as long as possible.

We sit and do the math, living paycheck to paycheck, wondering what should be paid first and what can wait a little while longer. The decisions from past generations impacted where Millennials are today, but they don’t want to admit that. The fact that prices didn’t change overnight, and the adults that were supposed to be looking out for future generations didn’t screw us over….well guess what, you did.

I feel to be one of the few, one of the blessed. I graduated college on a scholarship. Got a full time job, with benefits, right out of college in the field I studied for. My apartment is small, drafty and expensive, but it has hot water, carpet, and everything else I could want. I am able to see my therapist every week, and it not costing me an arm and a leg.

This too, did not happen overnight. Baby Boomers and Gen X, you don’t get to take credit for my accomplishments, when you are the reason I had to work so hard to overcome it. I live paycheck to paycheck, I also work ~100 hours every two weeks, so it is not for a lack of trying. It is that no matter how hard I try, I can’t get ahead.

So next time you call us lazy, selfish, and entitled, I want you to look around. If you are at work, I bet there is a Millennial close by trying to get ahead. If you are at the coffee shop, I bet the barista behind the counter is a Millennial, trying to pay her rent, or car, while going to school.

Hey all, it has been a while. So much has and hasn’t happened simultaneously.

Work may be the death of me, it is challenging and discouraging the majority of the time, with no break in sight.

Some slight guy issues, but oh well.

I think I am finally coming to terms with who I am, and am working to not only accept that, but embrace it.

I am almost 24 years old. Tonight my New Years plan is to get dinner out of the oven in ~20 minutes, curl up with my heated blanket and continue to read. I am also not ashamed of that. I joke and laugh that I am an old woman in a 20-something year old body, but it is the truth. Since I moved to Pennsylvania I have gone to only a handful of parties, they have included coworkers, who I am friends with.

I shouldn’t have to make excuses to not go out. “I have a headache”, “I’m just super exhausted.”, “Sorry, Ella has been throwing up.” I shouldn’t have to apologize or make excuses to back my decisions. I am an introvert, I am ok with that. I am not ashamed of the fact that I do not want to stay up until after midnight, with people I don’t know to have to drive home through, who knows how many traffic stops. That isn’t my cup of tea.

I am ok with the fact that I don’t want to go out and socialize. I enjoy my me time to work out, read, do what I want.

I genuinely believe it has taken me this long to finally comprehend radical acceptance.

Being a young, white woman in her early twenties, with a college education automatically puts me in the category of cliché/privileged; and I would be an idiot to disagree. Then throw in the facts that I’m from a family with divorced parents, middle class, and struggled with an eating disorder, and it sounds like any Lifetime movie you have seen that screams cliché.

I’ve also accepted the fact that my past is not something I should hide, but looking back I am grateful and have come to terms that my mom did the best she could.

That does not make what she has said or done in the past acceptable, but I do not feel a lump of resentment in my chest anymore.

My goals, hopes and aspirations as a child was never to have my parents divorce, move 9 hours away to a different state, have my mother become an alcoholic, live with my pastor and his wife, have an eating disorder, turn to cutting, go to every school in the county, but you play with the hand you were dealt.

I am not saying all of this for pity or sympathy.

On the contrary, growing up, I wouldn’t have thought I would be in solid recovery from my eating disorder, become a biochemist, have a German Shepherd, travel to Germany, or have a full ride scholarship to college.

Spending almost a week with my cousin almost makes me thankful for how I was raised, almost. My cousin is still in college, her parents are not divorced, she has three dogs in the suburbs, and has traveled to various places thanks to her parents. During this week, I heard thank you maybe three times, and two of those times was when I was dropping her off at the airport.

She decided to inform me of how she recently broke up with her boyfriend, but had already been spending nights at another guy’s house. The story of wearing leather pants to the bar, but not sleeping in them when she went to his house. Now, I know I am no better than anyone else, I have messed up, I have many many faults, but these are stories I didn’t care to hear.

Instead of visiting the market, or letting me take her to the park, she wanted to go to the mall. When we went out for coffee, she proceeded to whine about the syrup at the bottom of her ice coffee and how she “knew it was going to be an issue the moment I saw her making it.”. When we went out for dinner, she answers the phone in the restaurant. Whistling at me like a dog across the length of a store to get my attention. While we are supposed to be hanging out, she decides to make phone calls, then tells me about how her ex cornered her side guy at the bar.

While in Baltimore for a day, I bought two coffees purposely. My cousin scoffed, complained about something else, and judged me for the two coffees in my hands. As we were walking back to the car there was a man at an intersection with a handwritten cardboard sign (pretty common in that area). I walked up to him, wished him a Happy Monday, handed him the coffee and two packs of sugar, and was given a, “Thank you miss, God Bless.” In return.

I am thankful for individuality, and pray ceaselessly for patience, humility and happiness, but this week was very difficult for me. I’m thankful that I am practically 23 going on 60, and am thankful for gratitude and manners that my mom instilled in me. I fully believe in showing others the same respect that I would want, and be treated in the same manner. I believe in forgiving others for mistakes, because what if that was you one day. Regardless of title, CEO, Janitor, or Security Guard, everyone is a person and has a story.

My mother may not have been perfect, but I also do not correct others if it isn’t important, I consider myself a pretty optimistic person at times, and try to not nit-pick at others, even though I may fall short many times. So, I will focus on the good, be thankful for what I have, finish my glass of wine, and curl up with a book.

I hope you are sitting down for what I am about to tell you, but not driving, that’s an entirely different sitting. I mean, I guess you could stand, but be careful walking and reading. What if you bump into someone and that person is having a bad day and picks a fight, and you are all, “Yo, I’m really sorry! I was reading this girl’s blog and bumped into you.” Then that person asks what blog (which could really work to my advantage).

Anyway, you, you reading this. Whether you are standing, sitting (not driving), kneeling, laying down, squatting or jogging, I have some news for you.

You are not special.

There, I said it.

Much like that person you bumped into while reading this, you may be ready to pick a fight.

The truth of the matter is, you are not special. Whether the person who told you this was a mom, dad, brother, sister, grandparent, (pssssttt, that isn’t true).

You aren’t the only one who:

Dyed their hair a crazy color

Got a tattoo in a weird place

Speaks a foreign language

Likes food others find repulsive

Now, I know we all want to think that we, as an individual, are special. Not sounding haughty of ourselves, but just “individual enough” to stick out. This could actually serve as a barrier between us and others, us and building relationships, us and our worthiness.

If we believe we are special, then we are also different and unique; meaning we may interpret that as not being relatable. I could be out in left field somewhere, but by also having that mentality, it can also be thought of that you are the exception to the rule or are somehow undeserving.

You aren’t the only one who:

Has divorced parent

Are divorced

Struggles with a mental illness

Struggles with self-harm

Had an abusive childhood

Deals with alcoholism/drugs/addiction

But by believing you are somehow special or unique, you separate yourself from others, believing you are somehow different than everyone around you.

This mentality is a huge factor, I believe, in being open and vulnerable. If we are unable to discuss our struggles and shortcomings, it makes it that much more taboo when someone finally does open up. We are able to see that “I’m not the only one struggling with _________.” Yet, if we all walk around stoic, others may believe they are the only ones and find it more difficult, maybe even impossible, to open up if they feel like the people around them can’t relate.

I found this to be true during the support group I attend. If we keep the conversation shallow, I leave feeling unfulfilled and like it was a waste. Yet, in front of four new people I talked openly about my urge to self-harm and purge. Realizing that more people can relate than they initially acted. One lady in particular, was quite, until I mentioned my struggle; she opened up about how she copes and what works for her. It was great to see strangers who were able to come together over one very taboo struggle and talk openly, because I know, I am not the only one.

Slightly drunk, sitting on my knees wavering back and forth, watching him clean up the dog shit off the carpet, it was then that I realized, he was too good for me.

If there was ever a competition for who has the worst choice in men, I’d probably come in top ten, somewhere under Charles Manson’s wives, Hitler’s wife, and those cliché women from those Lifetime movies.

Ever since High School, my chose in men was much to be desired. The hot football player with a temper who would smack me for sassing. A drunk who also fell into drugs, but was there when I needed him, except that he drugged me and took advantage of me.

Ok, maybe he isn’t “too good” for me. Honestly though, I just don’t think I am in a place where I can accept someone’s compassion and thoughtfulness towards me.

While my eating disorder is currently like a sedated lion. I’m hesitant that at any moment it may wake up, pissed at the world and I must be on my toes, ready.

So, I don’t want to throw a relationship into the middle of that right now.

We had our first “fight”, even though we are friends. (Everybody knows we are a couple, except us). He asked if I wanted to go hiking on Saturday, I said “sure, just text me”.

Saturday came, I took the dog to the park, went running, met up with a girlfriend for breakfast. By that point he had texted me, but I was enjoying time with my friend.

It ended up getting blown out of proportion, him feeling “disrespected”, “shitty”, etc. I took some time to breathe, and responded the following morning. It was expressed by me, that while I heard what he was saying, and I apologized for not answering my phone, it was also not fair to me to be guilt tripped when no actual plans were made.

There was more, but isn’t worth it. Work has been slightly awkward since we are coworkers, but that is just another reason I’ve made it clear that I don’t want to date him.

“Insanity is doing the same thing

over and over again

and expecting different results.”

–Albert Einstein

This isn’t the first, or even second, time I’ve left group and felt like it was a waste of time, effort, gas, and regretted going all together.

This evening was nothing different. It takes the “same shit, different day” motto to the extreme.

I feel like I have been going for so long that I know everyone, their back story, and what they are bringing to the table every week.

She is sick and feels like shit.

She so desperately wants to be in a relationship.

She sleeps all day, and struggling.

Sure enough, I was right, I even called it earlier when I was in my appointment.

Not wanting to even go this evening, one of the girls texted me asking me to come. So I threw on my Nikes, put a baseball cap on and hid myself under a comfy hoodie and headed to support group.

If we were all making progress or something, that would be great, beneficial, something.

It just feels like something has to give. Maybe we need a group exercise, or an assignment, something to pull us from the perfunctory routine of what seems to be a whiny venting session. Or maybe I just need to quit going so often, that way when I go, it is something new.

I sat there, trying to listen, be supportive, but it was the same things I had just heard the week before. My ass bone grinding against the uncomfortable chairs, and being able to smell myself since I had yet to shower post run.

The thought was even there, “Text brother, get him to call you. That’s your way out. Answer your phone, and leave.” Still, I was trying to give group the benefit of the doubt. I may have said two words tonight. It just didn’t seem worth it.

Same shit, different week.

I could have bitched about my head hurting.

Whined about work.

Praised my awesome lunch.

Bragged about a delicious apple cake.

Instead, I sat there. Knowing what would happen if I opened my mouth. Not so much praised for the good, but fixated on the bad.

I would talk about how I ran today, but how I had a black bean burger yesterday for lunch. It would quickly become a “How often/much are you running?” “Oh, well are you eating lunch every day?” I understand where they would come from, but it just didn’t seem worth it. I may just be being a stuck up bitch, but lately it just hasn’t been beneficial at all, and I don’t think I am getting anything out of it.

I don’t see me returning for a while. Think I’m done re-living the same Thursday of my life over and over.

It is so difficult to compliment myself, brag on myself, or even see myself in a worthy light. My homework from my therapist this week was to “build a court case” against the lies I’ve been fed for so many years.

This is so hard for me, it is not like me to talk about what I have done or accomplished, because I just find that selfish and conceited.

My last post was about owning your story, but at the same time, owning it, doesn’t mean owning the lies you have been told your entire life. That is completely different. In an attempt to placate my therapist, I sat down the night before, and did the assignment she had given me last week. I didn’t put too much thought into it, because that would have been stressful and scary (which I know is kind of the point, to push me out of my comfort zone.)

Well, yesterday, I decided I wouldn’t wait last minute. I got home from my appointment, sat down and began to really think about the assignment and how difficult it would be. To not do it would be giving into the lies, rather than fighting them, but to do the homework meant dealing with the lies and trying to combat them with bragging on myself.

So, as I sat there, staring at the paper, it really hit me that this assignment was going to suck.

I began to think of my kids when I worked at a school, and one girl in particular who came to my mind and heart. I missed her, she had a very difficult home life, was hands down, one of my favorites, a heart of gold, and sassy as all get out (A girl after her own teacher’s heart).

So I started the assignment with, “What Would I Tell Alisha?”

You have been through so much, and are so strong.

Stay loud and loving.

Be there for your brother, you guys will be close.

You can’t control your parents.

None of that was your fault.

You are so loved.

It is ok to ask for a hug.

Be honest.

This is the girl, who was one of the smallest in her grade, yet, with a older brother, she would be out on the basketball court showing all the guys how to shoot. She was loud, sassy, played like one of the guys, but has a heart of gold.

Every day she would come running down the hallway, yelling my name and run into my arms. I was one of the select few who she came to for hugs and compassion, she didn’t want to lead on that she too, was tough, but needed love.

The day she came to school with stitches above her eye and scraped up, my heart sunk. The more I found out about her home life, the more I wanted to pick her up and take her home with me. No wonder she was tough and snarky, but I loved her just the same.

Reading the list that I would tell one of my students, but at the same time, me, not wanting or asking for help.

For the absolute longest time, I was certain that I was unworthy and undeserving- of many things:

Relationships

Recovery

Love

Compliments

I believed I was the exception, that serious complications from an eating disorder happened to others, not to me. That others deserved recovery, not me.

Being consumed with my inner critic and eating disorder, I fully believed that my worth was based solely on my actions and others’ opinions of me. Yet, it was always unfairly graded and weighed.

Positive that the pleasant compliments were only said to be polite, and maybe even out of pity, they held no truth to them. Yet, when someone was critical or demeaning, I held those comments as gospel and put my worth in my imperfections and short comings.

By listening to my inner critic and falling for the lie of being unworthy and undeserving, I was practically saying that I held no worth in who I am.

I would never say this to another person, but yet I found it acceptable to refer to myself as this.

It has taken many, many years, but I am not the exception.

Just like how my body won’t survive on carrot sticks because I want it to.

My worth isn’t based on my short comings because I think that is all I deserve.

In a society that thrives on perfection and believes asking for help is a weakness, we become fake to those around us.

It has become taboo to talk about struggles, we portray only the very best side of our life, feeding into the belief that we can’t measure up.

I am a huge advocate for sharing our stories. It is so easy to get caught up with our faults and mistakes and make our identity in them, but yet, I want to hear who you are.

I don’t care about the weather, your car or your job. We ALL have SOMETHING and I want to hear it. What you’ve been through, how far you’ve come, what you learned, and how it made you, you.

So instead of only showing the best side of yourself – be real.

Own your story, it is yours to tell and nobody has the power or authority to belittle it for how far you have come.

Sometimes I forget how far I’ve come and how much support I’ve had throughout this.

I wanted my family to be my biggest support system, but they aren’t, and you know what? That is ok.

So, I took Thursday-Monday off from work. I left work early Wednesday and headed to North Carolina.

It was a very long, slightly brutal drive, but worth every minute.

During this time I surprised my siblings by stopping by.

I met up with a couple people who are super important to me, and each one had practically the same things to say.

Being also able to go back on my running paths I had been doing for so long before moving. It was nice to go running again in the mountains of my home

I had lunch with the yoga instructor from treatment. She is an amazing, sweet soul, and expressed how proud of me she is and all of the hard work I put in and how far I have come.

I met up with my biggest supporter and advocate through this all, T, we got together twice, having lunch, walking around, getting coffee. It was amazing and I missed her, and her hugs, so much. The two of us got together, I drank a sangaria, ate black bean tostadas, which were amazing, we laughed and reminisced about how far I had come. She expressed how proud of me she was and how all that I had accomplished, a year and a half ago my goals were 1) a “big girl job” 2) a house 3) and a dog. All of which I have accomplished/obtained, and it feels wonderful.

Grabbed some beers with some old coworkers, we laughed and had a great time. We talked shit, ordered pizza, laughed some more, swapped stories. I missed them a lot.

Went to church Sunday morning, was greeted by many hugs, a few people said they were just thinking about me the other day. It was great to be back in my small knit community.

Honestly though, I think one of the most rewarding conversations and get togethers I had was with an old professor. I had her for a class during the middle of my eating disorder, I wasn’t eating, ran all the time, did pretty well in her class and never let on anything was wrong. That was, until I had to go to treatment. I opened up, told her what was going on, I asked if I could take my final early and she was more concerned about my health and well-being, than the inconvenience of taking my test early. Her and I met up, had a beer and talked about the last 7 months. I told her how I was working as a biochemist and liked my job, and then we began to talk about my eating disorder. I wasn’t embarrassed, or ashamed, I was honest. Told her I went back to IOP for a bit, but didn’t like it, and how I am doing much better, drinking beer, eating pizza. Pretty much kicking ass in recovery.

Dr. B went on to say how she talks about me frequently and how I never asked for special treatment. She was so happy for me and told me how happy and healthy I looked. She was so impressed by all I had accomplished and was even more impressed by my willingness to not only talk about all of this, but to agree to go to IOP up in PA.

Overall, this was a much needed trip. It can be so easy to get caught up in your own junk and forget how many people care about you. This was an amazing reminder that there are so many people who believe in me and have faith in what I can accomplish and already are impressed by what I have done and gone through.

I feel like I am in a constant state of confliction.

Fighting two ideas and desires in my head.

Part of me wants to be the warm, welcoming, happy, friend who is willing to lend an ear, or a couch.

The other part is extremely misanthropic, wanting nothing more than to be alone, reading, running, or coloring.

I met a friend in support group. At first I thought she was great, she was struggling, but she was nice, caring, etc.

Since she was struggling, and I felt like I was finally starting to make friends up here, I told her she was welcome to come over when she needed.

I felt like her Eating Disorder was on its period. She told me she was losing weight. She saw a picture of my best friend and I, from before treatment and commented on how skinny I was. Feeling so grateful I was in the mindset I was, and was able to mentally step back and try to decipher her intentions behind the comments. It was as if her eating disorder was trying to start something, and I wasn’t going to bite (no pun intended).

At first it wasn’t bad. Texting to let me know she was heading over. Then it became more frequent and with less heads up. It quickly became a knock on the door, or a phone call, “Hey, unlock the door, I’m standing outside.”

After a difficult week with my mother I wanted nothing more than to stay cooped up in my apartment with my dog, a good book and alternating between fresh pressed coffee and fresh brewed tea.

Then my phone began to ring. I ignored it.

I got in the shower. My phone rang again.

Headed to go run errands. Text message.

Got home. Phone rang.

Sitting on the couch reading. Knock at the door.

I figured it was only a matter of time. I opened the door and said, “Well, I’m glad you aren’t dead.”

I told her I was about to head out, and was actually going to go to my grandmother’s house (which, I had already decided earlier that day, I wasn’t up for it.) She stayed for what seemed like forever, lying that I was about to run to Barnes and Nobles, and she attempted to invite herself along.

Monday I talked to my new therapist, K, about it. She was trying to get me to put up some boundaries, and try to put some distance there. I don’t want to upset her, or rock the boat, but she is starting to remind me of my old roommate, and it is just making me question if this is a healthy relationship to be in right now. K agreed, and also wondered about my friend’s comments.

So, I got home. Exhausted from work, and from my session with K. My upstairs neighbor was standing on the stairs, checking her mail. I stood there and listened to her talk and complain about various things- the new neighbor, her job, whatever I would listen to. She then asked if she could pet Ella before she left.

There goes the internal conflicting dialogue.

“Ok, just for a minute. Maybe it will make her day, no harm in it, plus don’t want to piss off my neighbor.”

So, my neighbor was now standing in my living room petting my dog, while I am trying to hang up my keys and purse, put my lunch dishes in the sink, and take my shoes off. She is still standing there, telling me for the umpteenth time about her bitch of a coworker, and how the neighbors keep banging stuff, and how expensive the rent is. The only thing I am thinking is how badly I want to get out of my jeans.

Literally at this point I have tried the, “Oh, ok Jo, well, I mean, I was going to take Ella on a walk and change.” She kept on talking, this time about some movie about a dog she had just told me about last week.

At this point I am so mentally exhausted. Part of me wants to immediately hop on my phone and email K:

“So not only is my friend randomly stopping by, but now my fucking neighbor has been standing in my living room for the past twenty minutes!!”

I couldn’t fucking believe it!

Practically giving up, I headed to my room where I flung off my nice button-up shirt from work and threw on a tank top. Announcing audibly, “the next thing to go is my pants, regardless if my apartment door is open or not.”